Dan Hates His Dreams
by jane.cartier
Summary: Dan is in Italy with Georgina over the summer trying to write his scathing tell all. But no matter what he writes he can't seem to shake his dreams of Blair. He hates this one dream in particular.


**Dan Hates His Dreams**

He hated his dreams. There was one that he particularly hated that kept repeating itself as if to torture him. He was in bed with her in the dream. Hers not his. She was always on her back and he was always totally submerged in her. She was tormenting him in that beautiful way that only she could. Her creamy white thighs were wrapped around his hips and squeezing him in an excruciating way. Their lips were locked in a messy kiss. The kind that is a little sloppy with their tongues sliding and slipping against each others. The fingers on her left hand were digging into his lower back telling him that he was doing something right and that he wasn't to stop under any circumstances. They would always leave moon shaped marks on his skin. Her right hand was always buried in his hair. Pulling at it, fisting it, and massaging his scalp to a point that he didn't know he could feel so much pleasure from someone putting their hands in his hair. She would torture him. He was sure that was her mission. What else could it be? She would sigh and moan and breath erratically and gasp out his name involuntarily when she got close to her climax.

She would always come undone recklessly and wantonly, gasping erratically, and moaning out his name making him come suddenly and without any control over his own body. The pulsing of her walls always sent him over the cliff and he always ended up pushing deeper into her hard causing her to gasp in the midst of her orgasm. She would always writhe under his body moving her pelvis in a way that created mini explosions of pleasure for him. He would involuntarily let out sharp bursts of air at the wonderful feeling. He would always bury himself further in for the few precious seconds that he felt her insides pulse around his shaft. He would always rest his forehead heavily on hers. She would always smile and giggle in ecstasy. He would always bite his lips in an effort to keep from telling her he loved her.

The afterglow was even worse if that was at all possible. They never put their clothes back on and her smooth legs were always entwined with his. His arm was always wrapped around her naked body in an effort to keep her safe. Her breasts were always pressed up against his naked chest. One of her hands would keep running through his hair and she would be relaxed and satiated. She would smile in that way that she only did at him, she would pout in a way that always made him weak, and he was sure she controlled the size of her eyes at will and made them bigger and more doe-like on purpose in order to rule over him. He never had the guts to tell her that she ruled over his heart no matter what. Lord only knows the kinds of things she'd have him do if she ever found out. Then she would beg him in that soft but convincing voice to let her shave his 5 o'clock shadow for him and cut his hair too while she was at it. And she would punctuate her plea with kisses along his jaw all the way up to his ear. She would breathe purposely in his ear and tug lightly at his ear lobe before whispering that she was very good with a blade. She would purr and sigh and say please and tell him how she could kiss his jaw more often if it wasn't so prickly. She would be so breathtakingly desirous that he would believe that she loved him in that moment. She would tug on his hair and bury her lips in his neck and moan, "_Dan, please_," as if he was the one torturing her and not the other way around. He was always on the verge of giving in to her request right before he woke.

He hated that dream.

He always woke up gasping, there was always a sheen of sweat lining his body, and there was always a painful wanting ache that rested low in his abdomen that was always left unsatisfied. After about the tenth time he had this dream he had had enough. He got out of bed, got dressed, and marched himself to the first barber shop that he could find and had his hair cut. The dream stopped and that was worse than having the dream to begin with because now he had taken to consciously replaying it in his head before he fell asleep every night in an effort to see it once more. But just like his desire to see her again, his effort remained fruitless.


End file.
